Imperium
| Written by FoxofJudyFoster | Author's Note This is my own story. This is not a remake or a spin-off. This is my first pasta so I would appreciate any feedback. Thank you for reading this first part of the Imperium series! Please do not edit or proofread this, as it is a work in progress. Thank you! Part One: The Secluded Few Chapter I: The Guild Jorge Maskov''--''''' The first leader of the Guild, Jorge Maskov was...while being a pupil of Reg Halvor, Maskov was also an Outlander, a member of a race particularly scorned by the dwellers of the Inner Lands...Appointed by Halvor as Guildmaster in the New Reckoning year 499, Maskov and his lieutenant, Lennar Ponyets headed the Guild until N.R. 515...--'' ''The Book of Luthan''' "Welcome to the Guild," said Jorge Maskov proudly, shaking the hand of it's newest recruit, Han Dreker, with vigor. "Thank you, sir," said Dreker, a bit nervously, "then, I-I'm in?" "Yes, yes," nodded Maskov impatiently, "you were 'in' the Guild from day One. All that formality was just that - formality." The "formality" had been the writing of Han's name in the Book of Luthan, the secret book of the Guild, which at this time only served as a record book for new and old members alike; as well as presenting Han Dreker with a Guild-made iron sword. The one was purely ceremonial, the other was a sign of what would be expected of the members of the Guild in future time. "As you know, we are founded on the ideas of the great Reg Halvor," Jorge Maskov said importantly, "and to this day we remain his servants, in essence. He lives," continued the Guild-master, "in Uraki, in Arcadia. His teachings and ideas are controversial; and so, of course, on unprintable. There is a likelihood," concluded Maskov, "that he will be arrested for treason. And so, tried by the Emperor himself. But even then, we will continue to do his will." "What could he say, or write," asked Han Dreker, "that is worthy of imprisonment?" "He maintains that the Empireof Arcadia will fall, and with it all the other great kingdoms of the world, within two or three generations; and that afterwards, the world will be in chaos for many years, maybe centuries. The entire human race, in fact," Maskov said gravely, "may be destroyed in the wars to come. Of course, such an idea is very unpopular with the greatest monarch in the world." Han Dreker was silent. He hadn't realized what joining the Guild would mean, which he had done at his cousin's recommendation. An association, mostly of students and scholars, sure - but a revolutionary group whose leader may at that moment be receiving a prison sentence (or worse) for his ideas - Dreker wondered for half a moment whether he oughtn't discreetly take his leave of this mysterious foundation. Maskov said quickly, "I wouldn't leave if I were you. I wouldn't like to have to hunt you down, and kill you, but our secrets are our own, and we can't afford to have informers and false converts in our midst, thank you." "Who said anything about quitting?" asked Dreker suddenly, "I just don't want to get burned to death, or worse, by the Empire." "You won't," said Jorge Maskov, "I'll see to that. Our little project is likely to be transferred to some place less hostile, anyhow, maybe within the month." He sat down at his desk. "But," he held up his hand, "I do want you to do something for me." "I'm ready, sir, if it's to prove my loyalty," said Han Dreker proudly, anxious to show off. "No, no, it's nothing like that," Maskov shook his head, "our mission is simply the preservation of human knowledge and ideas, in the case of a massive catastrophe. The certainty of the Fall is anything but a certainty. Not only will we preserve humanity's knowledge," concluded Maskov, "we will preserve humanity itself. Times are uncertain, and will only become worse." "Alright, then," Han Dreker nodded, "what's my assignment?" "You are going to journey to Tahira," said Maskov with a smile, "to be present at the trial of Reg Halvor, in four day's time." Chapter II: The TrialCategory:Dramapasta Tahira--''' The largest city in the world, Tahira boasted a population of some 20 000 inhabitants (according to a 501 census)...this certainly made it the single most populated area under 20 miles in the Empire (excepting the Alaherian Strip). Founded by Morred I in N.R. 427, Tahira was in the beginning a mere fortress in the midst of many such ones ruled by bloody factions, but it soon grew to conquer them all...In 501, Emperor Morak III could truthfully say that he was master of the Eastern world...'''--'The Book of Luthan' I''' Tahira loomed up in the distance when viewed from the hill on the east border of Hort-town. The stone walls, some fifty blocks high, loomed up around the even taller turrets and towers of the city. Built on a hill, the city's streets all went upward, and the Imperial palace, in the center of the great city, was taller by far than the buildings on the lower levels. As Han Dreker viewed it in awe, it struck him suddenly that the sun was setting. At nightfall the gates were shut, and whoever showed up, even a second before they were closed, would have to spend the night outside. He spurred his horse forward, galloping past slow-driving farmers and merchants. The guards at the gate didn't hardly notice as Han rode in with the crowd. A glance or two, that was all. So far, so good. But better not speak too soon, he thought. The cobblestone streets, the smooth stone sidewalks, and the brick buildings, all these things were new to Han Dreker. And intimidating. He strode through the streets, looking for an empty inn... '''II Morak looked at his councilors contemptuously. Really unnecessary, he thought, but there it was; the people had to have some false sense of liberty, and if it had to manifest itself in the election of councilors, as long as it didn't really affect Morak, then so be it. The councilors made no decision that he, the Emperor, couldn't override, and so all was well. "We've brought him, sir," said the Head Guard, "shall we bring him in?" "Yes, yes," said Morak impatiently, waving his hand, "bring him in." With an escort of two Imperial Service men, Reg Halvor appeared before the Emperor. Reg Halvor was maybe fifty, although he looked far older. His hair was white, with small traces of grey still remaining. He was tall, however, and looked as intelligent as his writing suggested him to be. "Welcome," said the Emperor scornfully, "now we have precisely fifteen minutes in which to decide your fate. You had best sit down." He did so, sitting straight and tall. The officers remained standing. "Now, I understand," began Morak, "that you have been rousing the people and inciting rebellion. You have expressed your opinion that the Empire - the Glorious Empire of Morred, my great-great-great granduncle, is essentially dead, and will be destroyed by forces outside of my control, or of my officer's. Not only that, but rumors of a secret Society, founded by you - if not in person, at least in spirit - which are now spreading your heresy far and wide over the provinces. What do you say to this?" Reg Halvor listened calmly, not attempting to interrupt; and when the Emperor had finished he said simply: "The things I have said are true; if your little kingdom doesn't fall in a year, or a generation, it will fall, out of sheer necessity, someday. The purpose of my Guild is to preserve the good things which have come out of this empire, to deliver them into the next, if such a need should arise. And the Guild is far, far larger than you believe." The councilors sneered, and looked toward the Emperor expectantly. Morak said slowly "And what, may I ask, came out of this Empire that wasn't good?" "Do you call war, and conquest, and slaughter good?" asked Reg Halvor, calmly, "or the killing of your rivals, and their families? The cruel conditions of the mining towns of Harad? Or the treatment of the poor farmers in those field outside your gates?" "I give you two options," said Morak angrily, "have your 'Guild' depart from this land within a week - no, make it three days," he said, looking over at the councilors, "or you will be killed in the square as a public amusement. Choose quickly, or I will choose for you." Reg Halvor said nothing for a minute; then suddenly he spoke "Where will they go?" he asked. "What do I care?" the Emperor retorted, "send them off, to some deserted island--" He stopped. He knew just the place. "How about Eskyr?" asked Morak with a smile, "it's uninhabited, and sufficiently far from my domain as not to cause a disturbance. Yes..." "Your Grace, perhaps--" began one of the Councilors. "Silence," said the Emperor, "you'll go to Eskyr," he continued, looking at Halvor, "and you will stay there. I won't have you rebels to worry about, and you can satisfy your little fancy of building a 'great society' or whatever your end is. That is all. Leave me." Morak rose and departed, followed by the Guards escorting Reg Halvor out of the room. He was placed in his old cell, given paper and quill, and told to write a letter, telling the Guild of it's transition to a little island no more than three miles wide, and as many long, which must be made in an almost impossible time... III Han Dreker heard the news that Reg Halvor's trial was cancelled - due to a private agreement made between him and the Emperor - from one of the Imperial Social Workers, who was telling the story loudly to some of his friends at a particularly shabby inn. Dreker listened in closely, unperceived by the worker or his companions. He rose, stepped past them, and went out into the dark street. No need, then, to be in Tahira at all! A waste of time, thought Han Dreker. He may as well go back to the Guild, and deliver the news. But no - he had a feeling that something new would come up soon... he hardly knew what. He didn't know of the terms of the agreement or of Halvor's letter. He was dissatisfied with what scanty information he had. No, he had best stay at this city until he had better information. With a nod, he stepped back inside. The inn was emptier now, with only a few night prowlers sitting in corners, looking dark and brooding. He walked by them and went to bed. Slowly he fell to sleep. The next morning Han awoke to an awful noise coming from out in the street. He yawned and got up quickly, determined to discover the cause of the ruckus. IV It was market day. Farmers from out in the fields had come to the city, to sell and trade their goods. Herdsmen and servant women led cows and sheep by leads through the already crowded streets; butchers cried out loudly, hoping to sell a steak or two just to scrape enough emeralds together for some decent food, and everywhere was noise and smell and a crowd. Han made his way up toward the government buildings. He wanted news of Halvor, and staying among the dirty streets of the market wouldn't help him. He brushed shoulders with the rank and file of ordinary drudges that were called social workers, and even spotted some Imperial Officers, the higher individuals whose task it was to carry out secret duties and highly important matters. He looked for someone who might know the way to the prison... "Can I help you?" asked a stranger suddenly, "you look lost." "Where are your prisoners kept?" Han asked quickly. The stranger made a face. "In the upper level; third circle, you know." He was about to walk away, and then said, "why the devil are you looking for that place?" "Oh, no reason in particular," said Han evasively. He walked quickly up the stairs, under the stone arch that led to the city's third level. After a long search, Dreker found the place. He entered through the doors and found himself in a small front room. A guard sat behind bars at the far end. "Eh, wot are ye doin' 'ere," he said in a garbled Alaherian accent, "no vis'tors, cain't you read?" "I want information," said Dreker, taking advantage of the situation quickly. He pulled out a handful of emeralds, and said "Would these do?" The guard's face lit up. He straightened and said quickly, "wot do ye wanner know?" "About Reg Halvor. You know which Reg Halvor I mean." "Ah, 'im, eh? Wot do yer need t'know 'bout 'im, hey?" "Why wasn't he tried today like it was scheduled? And is he going to be released?" "I cain't say anyt'ing 'bout the second questi'n," said the guard, "but 'bout the fust, I thought ev'ryone knew the Emp'ror let 'im go." "The devil he did! Why?" "Well, mah brawther is in the h'Imperial Guard, see. An' he told me that ther was some kind o' conspir'cy or somethin', I derno, an' that the man, this Halver fella, was it's head er somethin'. That's wot I heared, anyhow. An' the Emp'ror tol' him ter cut out an' go ter some island in ther north. Exile, I serpose." He glanced at the emeralds in Dreker's hand. "Er... have I arned my reward?" Dreker put the emeralds absentmindedly into the guard's hand. So a deal was made. At least Halvor's life would hopefully be spared. That was something. But what island? Dreker could name three or four of the some fifteen islands off the northeastern coast of Arcadia. Most of them insignificant, especially compared to the large cocoa- and sugar-rich islands of the south-east. What island would they be forced off onto, away from everything they had ever known? Han Dreker was, for the second time in his short period as a Guild member, doubtful of the future. Chapter III: MigrationCategory:FantasyCategory:EntitiesCategory:Herobrine ''The Guild Migration-- '''Taking place in N.R. 501, the Guild's "migration" was the transfer of some 3000 Arcadian citizens to the small island of Eskyr, now Merin, in the Northern Sea. The Guild...Reg Halvor's small band of "agents" (A select few who were to remain on the mainland secretly to provide news) were dispersed through Arcadia and...Among the migrants was a young Malac Kalsov, who was later a very important and distinguished member of the Guild. ''--The Book of Luthan''' Three days had gone by. A hasty gathering of members, a mad scramble to assemble, and a large crowd of migrants heading down most of Arcadia's main roads - all these things in three short days. Now, over three thousand men, women and children gathered at Herov Port. The ten ships, each of which could carry nearly three hundred passengers, waited off the coast. They had been provided, very generously, by the Emperor. It was time to leave. Han Dreker walked through Herov Old Town. Guards, Imperial officers, waiting for the ships to take the rabble away, stood around the harbor and in the streets.Category:Creepypasta Category:First Pastas